


Next plane to London

by Potix



Category: Cabin Pressure, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birth, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Jealousy, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Prompt Fill, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Potix/pseuds/Potix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Martin x Molly one-shots...with occasional appearances from other characters from both Cabin Pressure and Sherlock BBC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bored

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Forgive my mistakes and typos- not native english, sorry !

Martin Crieff was completely,supremely, utterly bored. And not bored like that time MJN had to travel that mysterious box containing horse sperm from Hong Kong to Limerick...this time his boredom was paramount, like Arthur had said too many times...

Anyway, please, don't get him wrong: he was glad, and honored, that John Watson and Mary Morstan had decided to invite him, Martin Crieff, Sherlock Holmes half-brother, the captain of the smallest airline in Great Britain, to their wedding; and he was very happy to be the one who was gonna fly the happy newly married couple to Bahamas. But...he was tired, after another fly halfway around the world, and he didn't know anyone, aside from his two half-brothers Mycroft and Sherlock, and John...and let's be clear, the relationship between the brothers was far from idyllic: they always seemed to look at him like he was some kind of strange human experiment that their father had been conducting and that obviously failed.

"I mean, I can't blame them...Mycroft is the english Government, and Sherlock... well Sherlock is Sherlock. He's everything I will never be: intelligent, confident, brave, succesful..." he let his mind wander to a fantasy he often indulged in, where he, Martin Crieff, was the intelligent one, the handsome one,the valiant one...

Unfortunately, he was still the awkward and clumsy one, so on the way towards his table at the wedding reception he tripped over a young woman. "Wonderful Martin, drive all the attention to you, even here" he reprimanded himself, and started to say "I'm sorry, madam, it was my fault...", when he took a moment to look at the girl he had managed to trip over. She was...brilliant. Really brilliant. Wavy brown hair, lively brown eyes,rosy cheeks, lips that seemed so soft to kiss...he remained still, silent for a few instant, while the beautiful female seemed a little confused, because she continued to turn her head very fast and muttered "How is that possible ? He's still seated at his table...".

He finally took a hold of himself and a "What?!" escaped from his mouth. The woman stopped her movements and whispered "Are you his double twin ? Or a doppelgänger? Because I can't explain...even the voice...".

Martin finally saw where her eyes were directed before. Someone had mistaken him for Sherlock. Again.

"No,no...I'm not Sherlock. It's obvious, because...he's not me, isn't he? I'm Crieff, Martin Captain, I mean Martin Captain Crieff! No, I'm Captain Martin Crieff!" he blushed while stuttering.

"And why are you...?" the beautiful woman tried to ask, but Martin interrupted her. "I'm his half-brother...hasn't he told anyone about me?" he wondered, trying to sound calm, but failing.

"Yes! John told me! Nice to meet you, Captain Martin Crieff. I'm Molly Hooper."

And suddenly, Martin was not so bored anymore.

**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For an anon prompt on Tumblr: Molly chooses Martin Crieff over Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Forgive my mistakes and typos- not native english, sorry !

It was funny how almost every most important moments of Molly Hooper's life took place in St. Bart's morgue.

There she had met her best friend, Meena; there she fell in love with a brusque, insufferable, genius man child; there she bumped into a shy, sweet guy, whom she later discovered was a criminal mastermind, obsessed by the same she loved; and there she risked her job, her reputation, probably also her life, to help that rude, brilliant man to stage his fake suicide. There, she discovered that she counted.

It's in the same morgue that she made the most important choice of her life.

It was a friday evening - her turn was over, and her mind was already on the date she had with a cute, perpetually embarrassed airline captain, named Martin Crieff. As a matter of fact, the fist thing she had noticed about Mr. Crieff, was his uncanny resemblance to Sherlock. He was shorter, she knew it; and his hair were really ginger, and his voice was surely not as deep as Sherlock's...but the cheekbones, the eyes, the passion both of them put in their jobs, were identical. After a few dates, however, Sherlock was the last thing on Molly's mind while she was spending time with Martin. He was everything Sherlock could not (or didn't want) to be: funny, gentle, caring, affectionate. Firm, when he wanted to be; brave, and as a pilot he needed to be, to fly G-ERTI; romantic, in his own sweet and not banal way. Molly remembered what John had told her, once: that, quoting DI Lestrade "Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and one day, if we are very,very lucky, he might even be a good one". With Martin, she simply didn't have to wait: he was already a great, and a good man.

That was why, when Sherlock burst in the morgue demanding to be assisted while he cross-checked something extremely important and crucial like a new type of ash (for his catalogue, of course), she simply said:"No", and muttered a polite, yet hasty goodbye.

He remained bewildered, looking at her, leaving the morgue without a second thought. Molly smirked, knowing that the consulting detective was probably furious, and outraged, but in that case, even Sherlock Holmes had not observed with attention: Molly Hooper had already made her choice. Martin might be clumsy, not attractive as Sherlock, but every time he smiled at her, or complimented her hair, she knew he was honest. She could see him, and he could truly see her...and for her, it was enough. More than enough: it was perfect.

 

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Christmas present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas one-shot, dedicated to the sweet Zora Arian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm;Brett Dennen owns the rights for the song. Forgive my mistakes and typos, as usual- not native english, sorry !

Martin Crieff wasn't very fond of Christmas. In his experience, Christmas day usually meant that he was either spending it with his family, that believed he was a complete failure, or with his cabin crew on G-ERTI: he didn't know what it was worse. Well, in the second case he was flying a plane, at least, so maybe Douglas Richardson, Carolyn Shappey and her son Arthur were winning over his brother, his sister and his mother's company.

Anyway, all this changed when he met Molly Hooper. Martin still couldn't believe how lucky he was: Molly was intelligent, beautiful, sweet, caring...everything he could ever wish for. Plus, she didn't consider him a big disappointment: it was unbelievable, for poor Martin Crieff. Not that he was so poor anymore. Finally Carolyn had agreed to pay him the same salary she paid to Douglas, and...well, Martin found it a little offensive, being a Captain and being paid like the first officer, but it was better that being not paid at all. Plus now he had also a girlfriend, a wonderful woman who didn't think he was the biggest idiot on the planet: actually, she did love him for what he was, even if he was clumsy, and ginger, and un-lucky. She loved him with all her heart, and that made him the richest man in the world.

That being said, the fact that now he had more money in his pocket, didn't make the research for the perfect Christmas gift for Molly less difficult. They had been together for seven months, so Martin thought that buying a ring for her might be precipitous(besides, he couldn't still afford the jewelry he knew Molly deserved, even with a real salary from MJN); he was too shy to buy her a racy lingerie set (and he was perfectly fine with her choice of undergarments); a book, or something for the house, seemed a bit too impersonal for him. He needed something special, to show her that he was in love with her, and that she gave him the courage to do everything, just to see her smile.

One evening, during a business trip in Paris, Douglas and Arthur dragged him along to a karaoke bar,where he witnessed a man serenade his fiancé; at the moment, he found the show too embarrassing, and a bit shameful (the boyfriend's voice was really atrocious), but then he focused his attention on the girl, and he saw her eyes full of happy tears, meaning that she was probably deaf, but also satisfied by the unusual display of emotions from her fiancè. It took Martin the promise of fifteen cheese trays (minus the Camembert,that Carolyn still took for herself)to convince his first officer to teach him a few easy chords; and then he spent an entire week thinking of the perfect song.

Finally, Christmas day arrived. Before Molly could give him her present, he sat down at her old piano (a family keepsake), and asked her to sit down by his side. She did it, an unsure smile on her lips. Martin Crieff took a deep breath, and started to sing.

_Well I've never been a man of many words,_

_And there's nothing I could say that you haven't heard._

_But I'll sing you love songs till the day I die,_

_The way I'm feeling, I can't keep it inside._

Martin didn't dare to look at Molly, too focused on the piano keys. With every words, his voice grew steadier, and more self-confident.

_I'll sing a sweet serenade whenever you're feeling sad,_

_And a lullaby each night before you go to bed._

_I'll sing to you for the rest of your life._

_The way I'm feeling, I can't keep it inside_

_No I can't keep it inside._

He finished, his fingers lingering on the keyboard."Di-did you like it? It's not the present you were waiting for, but...".

"Is it true?" was Molly's reply. Her eyes were shining, and his heart did a back-flip in his chest, when she raised a hand to caress his cheek tenderly."Will you sing to me everyday? Will you stay with me, forever?".

"Yes" he whispered, and he couldn't add anything else, because her lips were on his all of a sudden. When they reluctantly parted, out of breath, their pupils were fully dilated, their hearts beating the same rhythm.

"It was exactly the present I was waiting for. Happy Christmas, Martin".

"Happy Christmas, Molly".

 

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Baby names and true friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlockholmesexual asked on Tumblr:"Molly going into labour just as Martin is about to leave to go to somewhere really far and then Douglas is all nice to Martin because he knows how special having your first child is and stuffs?". I think Douglas is not very nice in this piece...or maybe he is, in his own way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Forgive my mistakes and typos, as usual- not native english, sorry !

Douglas and Martin were in the middle of the cockpit-check, before a flight to Melbourne; and as usual, they were arguing.

"This is a complete waste of time, Martin!" the first officer whined, but the younger man rebutted promptly "I beg to differ, Douglas. This is an essential, and fundamental control, that we need to perform following strictly the manual-".

"No, not another lecture about the importance of your precious manual! Listen, can you please use the short version of the checklist, at least?".

"There's no short version..." Martin argued, but Douglas interrupted him again.

"Pre-flight checklist, by D. K. Richardson. Sky:above. Check! Ground: below. Check! Try and keep it that way the entire flight. The end".

Captain Crieff was ready to start another indignant and vehement reprimand, when the intercom chirped, and Arthur's always cheerful (although this time strangely preoccupied) voice reached the two.

"Yes, Arthur?" Douglas answered, rather annoyed.

"Hmm, hello Douglas! Is Skip there?".

"Yes, the master of the plane and his inseparable manual are there..." the first officer began, but Martin interrupted him.

"I'm here, Arthur".

"Well...hi Skip! How are you?".

"Fine, Arthur, thanks...but we met at your mother's office half an hour ago, why are you asking again?".

The flight attendant hesitated. "Well...it's just that your Molly called five minutes ago, and asked me to be extremely sure that you were calm and relaxed, before telling you something..."

Martin started to panic. "Molly called you to tell me something...what did she want you to tell me, Arthur?".

"Oh no, you're agitated, Skip! Is he turning all red, Douglas?".

"Arthur, what did Molly tell you?!". Martin's voice was full of apprehension, and shrill.

"Just that she was going to the hospital...then she started to breathe very funny, and said something about some waters that were breaking...It doesn't make sense, Skip! How could Molly break water? You told us that she is some kind of doctor...Is she a magician, too? Or maybe she's like Moses..."

"The twins! She's having the twins! Oh my God, I'm going to be a father!" were Martin's last words, before he went completely numb, his mouth agape, with no sound coming out of it.

Douglas patted the Captain's shoulders awkwardly, trying to encourage him, but in vain. Then, he decided to do what he could do best: he took charge.

"Arthur, later I will entertain you with a detailed dissertation about the wonder of human biology and the extraordinary adventures of Moses and Aaron, but now, I need you to focus: which hospital did Molly tell you she was going to?".

"Something with a saint...if she knows a saint, maybe she knows Moses, too!".

"Saint...was it St. Bart's, Arthur?".

"Maybe...yes, it was St. Bart's! Is it like Ottery Saint Mary, Doug-".

Douglas switched off the intercom, cutting off Arthur's question, and turned towards poor Martin, who was still catatonic.

"Well desperate times call for desperate measures" he muttered, and proceeded to slap his Captain in the face. Twice, just to be sure.

"Wh-what are you doing!? You- you slapped me!".

"Welcome back, soon-to-be-dad. Now, if you took my Jag, and maybe broke some laws, I'm sure you're going to be in London in less than an hour. Of course, you're going to repay my sudden generosity handsomely later, but-".

"But I-I can't! We need to fly the client to Melbourne, and Caroline said that the life of the company depends on the outcome of this trip...but I can't leave Molly alone! I want to be there with her, but I can't be responsible of the bankrupt of-".

Another well-aimed slap interrupted his panicked rant."Listen, Martin. You know who I am. I'm a smuggler, a compulsive liar, a serial cheater. To quote dear Bill Shakespeare, I have "more offences at my beck than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in". But if you don't leave this plane right now, God helps me, I will add your murder to my crimes".

Martin remained silent for a second; then, without a word, he took the car keys his first officer was handing him, and in return he offered him his shaking right hand. Douglas shook it firmly, providing his last words of wisdom.

"When my daughter was born, I was flying an Air England's plane over Germany, and neither my ex-wife, nor I, did forget or forgive it. Don't make my mistake, Martin- go to Molly, and witness one of the greatest miracle of the human nature".

* * *

After eight hours of labours, finally the world welcomed the Crieff-Hooper twins: very ginger, very agitated, and very beautiful.

The next day, the MJN crew visited the happy family.

"So, what did you call them? Will I blush?" Caroline asked, while keeping an eye on the over-excited Arthur bent over the babies cradles.

"The girl is Emma Beatrice, simply because we liked the names, and the boy..." Molly stopped, and with a tender caress on her husband's hand, prompted him to finish.

"The boy's name is William Kenneth. William because of Molly's father, and Kenneth...well we all know who is Kenneth" he finished with a shy smile.

In that moment, a rare fact occured: a lonely, very masculine tear ran down Douglas Kenneth Richardson's face. It was the kind of tear the sky-gods like him spared only for the very special occasions.

**Thanks for reading.**


	5. Christmas jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr asked for "Martin and Molly go to a Christmas party in 221B and then he proposes to Molly and everyone is in surprise and Sherlock gets very jealous".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Forgive my mistakes and typos, as usual- not native english, sorry !

Christmas time had always been herald of ominous omen, for Sherlock Holmes. Take last Christmas, for example. He had murdered in cold blood an evil man, to protect John, Mary and their-at the moment - unborn child; then he had been forced to embark into a suicidal mission, but only for four minutes, because his nemesis, James Moriarty, had decided to come back from the dead (how banal, he had done the same thing just months before), and threaten the lives of his friends and family, again.

One year later, Sherlock had committed a second murder, Moriarty was definitely and unmistakably dead, and England was safe; but the dreadful sensation that something bad was going to happen, couldn't leave the consulting detective alone.

Obviously, he couldn't share his apprehension with anyone. First of all, he was the great Sherlock Holmes, he wasn't supposed to believe in bad feelings, premonitions and all that nonsensical rubbish: he believed in logic, rationality and the supreme power of the mind over every other organ in the human body. Secondly, none was paying attention to him.

It was quite reasonable, after all: who wants to hear someone ranting about a gloomy future, during a Christmas party? Surely not the Watsons, who were fussing around little Charlotte. Not Lestrade and his new girlfriend- well, soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend. It was really evident that she was cheating on him with her fiscal expert...well, he would tell the DI the truth before New Year's eve. Maybe. Mrs Hudson...well, she was gushing over Little Watson, too, and that left only Molly Hooper. Well...Molly Hooper and her new boyfriend. The association of that peculiar denomination-"boyfriend"...ugh, so childish- with his pathologist, had the power to leave Sherlock...rather uneasy.

Long gone was Tom "Meatdagger", and his stupid theories; now Molly was dating a pilot. An airline captain. She described him like a "sweet, caring, amazing man"; in Sherlock's opinion, he was the pathetic parody of a human being.

First of all, he stuttered. Not in that funny, comforting way Molly used to stammer in his presence, years ago: his babbling was the more annoying sound the consulting detective had ever heard. Second, he was completely fixated with planes. Ok, he was a pilot, it was quite normal...but how could someone so obsessed with his job be the kind of man Molly needed? A pilot's job was dangerous, how could that man put his pathologist in that state of constant worry? Third...he was too short. And ginger. Very ginger. Horrendously ginger. Sherlock shuddered, as he remembered a younger Mycroft, a younger and ginger Mycroft...That bufoon's colors didn't match at all Molly's delicate complexion...

"Is something bothering you, Sherlock?". Suddenly Mary Watson appeared by his side, a glass of champagne in her hands.

"Only the usual and futile non-sense about love and the other saccharine, stupid things this time of the year always brings along..." he muttered, glaring at the happy couple who was currently exchanging pleasantries with his Mrs. Hudson. The consulting detective didn't notice Mary's gazing quickly from him to the pathologist, and then back again.

"Of course, because love is..." she former spy prompted.

"A dangerous disadvantage" he concluded.

"Are you sure? I mean, do you still believe it?" Mary asked, but Sherlock didn't reply. His sight had fallen on a strange-looking, small and velvety box protruding from the captain's jacket's pocket.

Oh no. No. Not here...not anywhere. He couldn't!

For once, Sherlock's actions were not meticulously premeditated. He acted on instinct. In three long strides, he reached his pathologist and that annoying man, and grabbed an arm. Leaving the others completely puzzled, he dragged the poor owner of the said arm in his room and slammed the door closed.

* * *

"What. Do. You. Think. You. Are. Doing ?". Being pressed against Sherlock Holmes' bedroom door, with the room's owner growling at him, a murderous look in his eyes, was not what Martin Crieff had imagined when Molly had asked him to go with her to the annual Baker Street Christmas Party. He had assumed that sharing the same air with the famous Sherlock Holmes and John Watson could have been a little...intimidating, to say the least; but being physically manhandled by the great consulting detective himself, was beyond his most pessimistic forecasts.

Martin didn't how he found the breath to utter a frightened "I'm sorry! I don't know...wh- what am I doing?", but he was sure he had given the wrong answer (as usual), because, if it were possible, the man in front of him seemed even more angrier than before.

" Are you mocking me? You, a pathetic, underpaid, airdot's captain, are trying to screw me over?". Sherlock spat the words, like he was disgusted by the mere thought.

Outside, everyone was banging on the door, and a cacophony of threats and pleas could be heard outside. The door cracked open, and through the small opening, appeared Sherlock's face.

"We are fine!" he growled, and then, with a menacing snigger, he addressed the poor captive."Tell them you're fine, Martin..."

"I- I'm fine. Perfectly fine!" he blurted out, before the door was closed .

"Now, I will ask you again...What do you intend to do with this?" the taller man asked, while extracting the ring box from Martin's pocket.

 _"Oh. That's what he was talking about..."_  Martin finally understood. Well, what could a man, who was very in love with his beautiful, intelligent, amazing girlfriend, do with a ring? martin knew that Sherlock Holmes could deduce your past three meals just by looking at your fingernails, but right now, he seemed a bit dumb, to him. Dumb, and still a manic threat.

"Well, I thought it would be-" he started, but a hand on his mouth stopped him.

"Don't say romantic...you thought that proposing to  _my_  pathologist, during  _my_  Christmas party, would be romantic? Oh, you're an absolute idiot..." Sherlock laughed, then the glint of mirth that Martin had spotted in his eyes was gone, replaced by hatred.

"Would you dare to do it? To propose to  _my Molly_ , in front of me?". Martin was baffled. And there was something else, another emotion, growing in him. Anger. Pure, unadultered anger.

" _Your Molly_? Do- do you really think that she could be yours, or mine, like an object!?" the captain replied, pushing Sherlock away, and moving forward in the room. Both men didn't notice that the now free door had opened, and the pathologist was starting to enter the bedroom, silently.

"Molly...how could you be knowing her for so long, and not fall in love with her?" Sherlock started to reply, but he stopped when he spotted Molly approaching them. How could he say, in front of her, that he had fallen in love with her, slowly, and he had tried to fight the sentiment, in vain, until that moment when he finally understood that he had wasted time, and occasions, only because he had been a coward? Now he couldn't...now it was too late.

Martin continued, unaware of the presence of the woman he loved, just behind him. "She's kind, and clever, and generous, and so beautiful. She's the bravest woman I've ever met, and ...I thank God everyday, because she lowered herself and decided to love me. I know I'm not as intelligent, or tall, or adventurous, as you are...but I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of anything, or anyone, now that I have Molly by my side. And I will be honored, and so lucky, if she agrees to be my side, for the rest of our life ".

Martin heard a gasp behind him, and stopped. Molly was crying, a look of pure adoration in her eyes. "Martin..." she panted, between the sobs, and the pilot rushed to her.

"Molly...oh, please, don't cry..." he hushed, embracing her.

"Is- is it true? What you said, is it true?"

"Of course...I-I love you, Molly" Martin blushed, when he noticed all the others witnessing the scene.

"Oh, Martin..." Molly breathed against his lips, before kissing him with all the sentiment she could muster. "Yes! Yes! Yes! I will marry you" she started to shout when the kiss ended, and everything around them disappeared: John and Mary, Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and his cheating girlfriend...even the jealous consulting detective.

The happy couple didn't notice him leaving the room, and taking his coat to run outside, alone with his grief. He should have listened to himself: sentiment was nothing else than a chemical defect found on the losing side. At least for him.


	6. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Morbidmegz on Tumblr :"Martin is stuck flying in a terrible storm, and thinking of Molly keeps him safe and gets him and the crew back home. Meanwhile, however, Gert-I has been reported as missing, and Molly has been informed that her Martin is probably gone. Of course happy ending ensues, but ya know, you know what I'm getting at".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything. John Finnermore owns Cabin Pressure and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Steve Moffat and Mark Gatiss own Sherlock and his realm. Forgive my mistakes and typos, as usual- not native english, sorry !

Molly was finishing the graveyard shift at the morgue, when she received the phone call that every pilot's girlfriend, boyfriend or relative dreaded to receive. "We are regretful to inform you that...". After that, she only caught some words: "Severe winds, heavy rain", "lost radar signal", "the weather is too bad to risk a rescue mission". She barely found the strength to call Mike and tell him that she couldn't stay, because something bad had happened to Martin...her Martin.

She spent the next few days in bed, avoiding her friends' attempts at consoling her. How could they comfort her? She had lost the love of her life, and her future seemed so senseless without the shy captain who had managed to steal her heart. The pathologist feared the days when Martin's clothes in her wardrobe would lose his scent , or when she would forget his smile, or his warm caresses on her back, or the way he used to kiss her awake.

Since the first awkward date, she had known that Martin Crieff was the one, the man she wanted to spend her life with: because he loved her for what she was, because he had accepted everything, her virtues and her faults, and he had offered all of himself in return, without lies or deceptions. Martin made her feel loved, and trusted, and now...now she was alone, with her dreams about a future that was no more, and the heavy burden of all the things she had not said to him.

Molly was wrapped up in one of his shirts, when another phone call arrived. At first, she thought it was a trick of her mind, because the voice she was hearing from the receiver was unmistakably Martin's voice, babbling about a crosswind landing in some place in Mongolia, in the middle of nowhere, with only one engine ("Like in St. Petersburg, Molly! I did it again, and all alone!"). She hung up, the tears that she had managed to restrain for three days poured out, and it took Martin three expensive international calls to make her believe that she was not imagining things, but that he was safe and sound, and very, very alive.

Two days later, after a moving reunion with a lot of kisses and some tears, Martin explained to her how he had made it. "I couldn't stop thinking about you...the fear of losing you, of losing the chance to spend my existence by your side, gave me the strength to remain concentrated, and set Gert-i down. Because I simply can't live without you, Molly Hooper, and I don't even want to imagine a future when we are not together".

Molly kissed him with all her heart, and finally they both told one another what had been on their minds since before the accident, at the same time.

"I'm pregnant".

"Marry me".

Needless to say, it was the quickest case of simultaneous faintings ever recorded. While assisting them, Douglas commented: "Soulmates, indeed...".

****Thanks for reading. Leave a comment, you will receive good influence and beautiful dreams...** **


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